


Comfort

by WanderingSummerBreeze



Category: Outlander (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 04:25:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8607775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze/pseuds/WanderingSummerBreeze
Summary: We all saw Jamie and Claire's looks in S01E03. What might have been...





	

I suppose I knew that I was in trouble the moment I called him back to examine his shoulder. Colum’s Rhenish still clouded my brain, but not enough that I didn’t know what I was doing. I just wanted a few more moments with him. I can’t say for certain whether it was missing my husband or the fact that Jamie had been so kind to me, but I did what I did and I can’t take it back.

When I pulled his neck scarf free and pushed his shirt aside to give me an unobstructed view, I noticed two things. One: He smelled of horses, the elements and sweat. A lot of sweat. Two: I was incredibly turned on by all of it. And when I glanced up at his face while examining him, and he looked down at me, I was terrified he could smell me. I clenched my thighs involuntarily as I felt myself quiver and begin to be aroused, suddenly missing the protection of proper undergarments.

I stepped back and cast my eyes downward. He mustn’t know what I was thinking. But he remained still, his breathing increasing ever so slightly.  
The silence in the room thundered through my temples. The crackling of the fire seeming like a volcanic eruption. I swayed slightly and Jamie stretched out to catch me.

“Mistress Beachamp. Are you all right, then?”

Willing the spinning to stop, I kept my eyes closed. It wasn’t the drink. It wasn’t the circumstance I had found myself in. It was his bloody smell. His hard-working, sweat-drenched clothing and skin. I took a deep intake of breath and I could feel a callused hand stroke my hair away from my face. As if unable to bear it any longer, I clutched his arms and steadied myself, finally allowing the dim room to penetrate my eyes.

He looked at me with worry. I watched his chest rise and fall in solidity as he searched my eyes.

“I’m fine. Really.” And while I said it, I didn’t mean it. 

“Perhaps you should lay down, lass.”

“No no. I’m quite all right.” But I never let go of his arms and he never ceased his hold on me. My hands began to move up his arms to his biceps. The firmness in them startling me and I could all but imagine them holding me as he pushed himself up inside me. Grasping and gripping my body to his in fevered passion. I could let him take me. Take me right here. And damn my soul to hell, I wanted him to.

My eyes rolled upward to meet his gaze once more. My hands continued to move up and down his arms, as he slowly let his grip on me lessen. He had grabbed me near my breasts when I had faltered. Close, but not quiet touching. Still, a salacious action had anyone walked in on us. 

I suppose he finally realized this, and ever the gentleman, as he had proven to me more than once, he dropped his arms free from my body. Dropped them, but did not step back. My hands fell south from his shoulders, as I brought one of his hands forth, toward me, into the light. I rubbed his left hand with my thumb and his eyes weakened, closing slightly before finding strength to open again.

“You should take care of your hands more. You do so much with them.” I meant it as a nurse giving advice to a patient. He did do a lot with his hands. But all I envisioned when I spoke the words, was them dripping with my wetness as they took ownership of my vagina. Pushing in deep, with his long, strong, fingers, the calluses rubbing me from the inside in the most pleasurable fashion.

“I dinna ken what I can do differently, Mistress.”

It was spoken in such a hush as I put his hand to my lips, rubbing my face back and forth across it. I inhaled his scent, memorizing every subtle nuance that struck my nose. I felt him shift slightly. Was it to get closer? Pull away? Or, was he feeling this desire pulsate through his body as well? Did he imagine making love to me in the firelight, or fucking me across the surgery table, ass high in the air as he pounded me from behind.

Jamie stepped closer, closing the distance between us as I lightly stuck out my tongue to glide across his hand.

“Claire,” he spoke my name, but I was barely conscious of anything other than what I was doing. What I was tasting. 

His other hand touched my body, on my side, running the length of my ribs. I opened my eyes to watch him. He no longer paid attention to what I was doing, but focused on the rise and fall of the exposed flesh of my breasts.

“We canna be doin this, Claire.”

I pulled his hand from my lips, running my thumb across the top, “Do you really want me to stop?”

A strangled No escaped his lips and he finally stood before me, touching my body. Even through all the layers of clothing, I could feel him. My God could I feel him. Strong and hard and most assuredly weeping beneath his kilt.

As much as I needed him inside me. As much as I wanted to be loved. Be punished. Be cared for and owned by this man. I couldn’t betray the man he was. I knew him only a short while, but he was a man of honour and integrity. He would take me. That I knew as much as anything, if I let him. But he would hate himself for it. Not in the morning, but even in the moment. I could almost taste the tears that would fall down his cheeks. I was still an intoxicated woman, albeit, an incredibly horny and lonely intoxicated woman. He would never take advantage.

Time was of the essence. The gathering above, filled with it’s beautiful music and song, would be ending soon. If he wasn’t there when it did, the talk would start and only gain steam the longer he remained missing. They all saw us leave together.

So, I could not let him be ashamed for his actions. But I would allow myself to take comfort, as brief as it may be, in his touch and smell.

Jamie’s hand roaming across my corset had slowed to a dull movement. I looked upward into his eyes and brought the hand I was holding to touch the swell of my breasts, holding it there. It began to burn with fire at his touch. For his part, Jamie just watched me. Then I brought my other hand, no longer relaxed at my side, to his front.

He jumped back slightly and ripped his hand from my side to pull away mine, from his front. But he didn’t remove his hand on my breast.   
“What are you doin?”

“Shh,” I closed the distance between us once more and with his hand still gripping mine, I brought them, together, to the front of his kilt.

He had at least 80 pounds and several inches on me. He could have stopped me. He didn’t.

I touched his face, searching his eyes for any true desire for me to stop. I found none. What I found was almost a sadness. I felt as if I knew him just then. Whatever he may do regularly, visit a brothel or such, to relieve his tension, what he needed was this. Someone else to take control and comfort him. And I felt awash in tenderness for him.

While he wouldn’t allow me to raise up his kilt, we both slowly rubbed the thick fabric against his manhood. Jamie removed his hand from my breast and placed it around my back, pulling me in closer, as he rested his head against mine.

It didn’t take very long at all. Both our hands worked vigorously, until he finally, trusting me, I think, he released my hand from his, resting it just on my wrist as I continued my actions. His pulled me tighter against his body. If I thought too long about it, I would have thought he wanted to bury himself, his entire self, inside me. His breath hitched and I could feel wetness drip from his lips, falling on my forehead as he panted and finally gave into his release with a soft cry, barely audible to human ears.

Our hearts, pushed on by passion and human need, raced as one as I felt Jamie go slack against me, his body spent. His cock, still slightly firm beneath my hand and cloth, shied away from my roaming hand. I wasn’t quite ready to let go.

But, I thought, it was over. I needed to step away.

There would be no reciprocation on my behalf. I had resolved myself of that before. And yet, I did feel tension in my body leave. I did feel my loneliness temporarily evaded. I smiled against his wet hair. I needed to allow myself one thing, though.

I licked the sweat off his brow, sweat that I had put there, and finally set him free.

Jamie pulled out of my embrace, shivering at the sudden dampness of the room. I did as well. The loss of one anothers heat, now icing through our veins.

We just looked at one another. He did have tears in his eyes. They never fell, just pooled. I begged him with my eyes to not feel guilt. It was what I had wanted. Whether he would abide, I did not know. I suppose I would in the morning, when I would see him again.

“Goodnight, Jamie. Thank you for seeing me back safely.”

I watched his head nod ever so shallowly. He glanced down his front, probably assuring himself that all was as it should be upon his return above, then back to me.

“Sassenach,” he took my hand, and bringing it to his lips, kissed it longer and deeper than he needed to, desperate for one last touch, before setting it free, “I wish you a good evening.”

I nodded, smiling, as I watched him retreat. He held my gaze, as long as possible, before winding around the staircase and sinking into the dark.

I fell back against the surgery table, glasses of potions rattling as I did. I ached inside. Ached for someone to fill me and make me moan in completion. Ached for peace. I brought my hand to my lips, the fingers tracing the remnants of the sweat I had licked from his brow. It was the same hand I had used to bring him comfort and pleasure. I inhaled the perfume from my fingers. Whether it was simply a ghost from a moment passed, or whether it was truly there, I could smell him. Tonight, I would have to settle for myself, I thought, as I lifted my skirts, bringing Jamie inside me.


End file.
